Free The Elves of Cintra by Terry Brooks Page A

drawn by the bloodletting, swarmed invisibly as the once-men engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the compound defenders. The defenders were brave and fought hard to hold their ground. The battle would rage the rest of the night, would last until the defenders were driven back behind their walls. When that happened, the once-men would begin to search the city for strays. It would be a good idea to be as far away as possible by then.
    “We should leave,” he said, agreeing with Owl. He glanced behind at the overpasses, which were flooded with refugees from the city—the Freaks and street kids and others that had come up from the waterfront. They had disdained the freeway ramps, intending not to abandon the city but to look for shelter farther inland, thinking to come back when the attackers moved on. As yet, none of them had chosen to come down the ramp the Ghosts occupied.
    But that could change at any moment.
    “Pick up everything you want to keep,” he instructed. “Carry it down to the Lightning. Tie the cart to the rear hitch. Strap the old man into the carrier on the AV’s roof. He’ll be all right for now.” And safer for all of them if he stayed out in the open air with his plague sickness, he thought, but did not say. He glanced down at Sparrow, who was still cradling Squirrel’s body. “We’ll put the little boy inside where he will be safe until we can find a place to bury him,” he said. “You can stay in there with him.”
    The Ghosts began to gather up their possessions, a sad and desultory group, none of them saying anything. Bear walked over and lifted Squirrel’s body out of Sparrow’s arms, hushing her sobs as he did so, telling her to come with him. Fixit and Chalk picked up the Weatherman, and River took the handles of Owl’s wheelchair and turned her about.
    It was Panther who said, “What about him?”
    He pointed at the boy with the ruined face, who still lay sprawled in the street where Bear had flattened him with the cudgel. When no one else moved, Logan Tom walked over and bent down, checking the boy’s pulse and breathing. “He’s unconscious, not dead.”
    “Leave him,” Bear growled, stopping long enough to look back, still holding Squirrel in his arms.
    Logan glanced at the others. “Can you wake him?” Owl asked. “Can you get him on his feet?”
    Logan examined the damage done by the blow that Bear had administered, a deep, purplish bruise on the left temple. “I think he’ll get past this and wake on his own.”
    “But if we leave him?” she pressed.
    Logan glanced at the throng on the overpass, and then at the fighting on the docks. He shook his head. “He probably won’t make it.”
    “Leave him!” Bear repeated, shouting it this time.
    “Leave him,” Panther agreed.
    The others repeated the words, all except for Candle. “Squirrel wouldn’t want that,” she said quietly to no one in particular.
    Owl’s dark eyes fixed on the little girl’s, and she nodded. “No, he wouldn’t. We’ll take the boy with us.”
    “Frickin’ spit!” Panther snapped at her. Bear muttered something under his breath as he turned away. The others gave Owl dark glances of disapproval, but no one said anything more. Logan waited a moment, then picked up the disfigured boy and trudged downhill after Bear. He thought it was a mistake to take him, but it wasn’t his place to say anything. Not yet, anyway. Later, perhaps. He knew how it worked. Sometimes you did what you had to, not what you wanted to. Sometimes you did what you knew was right even when you knew you would regret doing it. He had learned that particular lesson from his time with Michael. As a result, he had accumulated enough regret to last him a lifetime, but he had done what he had done because it was what was needed.
    Now he was looking after a pack of street kids because he had failed to rescue their leader. Not necessarily because they needed it or because it was given to him to do so, but because it seemed